


Blood and Ink

by ElisabethMonroe



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Author, Camp Nanowrimo, Flashbacks, M/M, Nightmares, Reincarnation, Writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElisabethMonroe/pseuds/ElisabethMonroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which<br/>An author, plagued by violent dreams, meets his main character with a startling twist. He's the last piece in the broken, scattered puzzle of the author's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my NaNo piece with slight variations to fit Fandom. Should be updated regularly. Yell at me [here](http://abarbaricyalp.tumblr.com/ask) If you see any mistakes (names mostly), yell at me in the comment box

_“I understand if you want to leave,” a normally strong, sure voice called out through the chaos. It was odd to hear the voice faltering and unsure.  “No one will blame you.  We all have families. We have reasons to leave. You will not be judged. I only ask that you leave now before we expect you in battle and you aren’t there.”_

_For a frozen moment, nobody moved, nobody spoke, and nobody seemed to be breathing. Then, slowly, a man slid away from his friends and his comrades. Then another. Slowly and one by one, twenty-five men of varying ages left the fight. The already minimal resurrection army dwindled into something worse._

_The man at the front’s lips thinned but he said nothing. He waited for several moments before beginning again. “They will attack at any moment. We need to be ready. We can no longer afford to be away from our weapons.”_

_Suddenly the man’s best friend spoke up, easily overpowering the natural leader. “You need to ask yourself if you’re ready to take another’s life. If you’re ready to sacrifice your own. It’s not something we thought we’d be driven to, but we’re faced with it now. It won’t be an easy burden to hold.”_

_The blond man glared at him before his countenance softened. Several more men became uneasy before leaving in the same fashion the others had. The blond leader gripped onto the barrel of the gun he had in his hand._

_“Despite the choices made by our brothers, we still fight for them, we still fight for their right to freedom. Just like we fight for the right of every man, woman, and child to be free,” he said with a fire in his voice that he had momentarily lost._

_He had a proud, defiant tilt to his jaw, standing before men willing to die under his command. Despite the filthy clothes he wore, he still looked like royalty, a fact he tried very hard to avoid. The sunlight that filtered through the smoke outlined him like a Heavenly body._

_Then the gunfire erupted around him again. He quickly dove to save those in front of him and landed with a hard thud that knocked the vision from him._

Grantaire awoke with a start, heart hammering in his chest and the small blanket he’d been using twisted around his legs. He tried to kick it off and realized he’d fallen off his bed during the nightmare. Everything in his soul ached like a bruise prodded too much. He drew in a deceivingly fulfilling breath and then choked on it as his lungs stopped expanding. His left wrist hurt like hell and he was pretty sure his entire arm was going to be sore in the next few hours.

He tilted his head back and let himself breathe for as long as possible before disentangling his blanket from his legs and crawling back into his bed. He lay on his side, staring at the pulsing light of his charging laptop, before temptation took over and he ended up rolling over and staring at the traitorous blue numbers of his alarm clock.

4:27

He had two hours before he had to be awake to deal with his publisher. He was still chilled down to the bone and his body felt tight. He doubted he was going to be able to go back to sleep before then.

4:45

5:10

Finally Grantaire just groaned and closed his eyes, turning onto his stomach and attempting to suffocate himself in his pillow. Something must have worked, maybe oxygen deprivation, because the next time he woke up, it was 6:58 and he was officially late for his day.

Curses flew almost as quickly as clothes as the author attempted to dress himself without too much thought behind the movements. Interacting with the real world was no different as he practically ran down the street to the easiest place to catch a cab.

Ten minutes later, he ran into the small publishing house and started rifling through his raggedy old bag to find the manuscript he’d finished late last night. Or early this morning. He had more to add to it now. He always did after he woke up.

“Did you meet your lover again last night?” was his greeting walking into the building.

Grantaire sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he moved to set his bag down on Bahorel’s desk. “I don’t have a lover, you insufferable ass,” he muttered, tugging a hand through messy curls.

“Yes you do. Of course you do. He’s light and innocence and passion.”

“And a figment of my imagination, so, please, don’t mention my nightmares like they’re some gift,” Grantaire answered as he rolled his eyes.

“Yo, these nightmares are paying your bills, so maybe they are a gift.” Bahorel pointed out a shrug, leaning back in his seat and propping his feet up on the desk. He didn’t seem to mind that he was disrupting the papers, which scattered all over.

“Are you tracking whatever awful diseases you’ve managed to gather on your soles onto someone’s livelihood?” Grantaire asked dubiously.

Bahorel rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Probably. I don’t know why anyone trusts me with anything here.”

“They don’t. You don’t even have a stapler or scissors,” Grantaire pointed out distractedly. He finally pulled his own manuscript free and scowled as several bills and letters spilled out as he did so. Bahorel grabbed one and read over it without much interest. In his tight fitting blue button down and dark slacks, he certainly looked like he belonged here. Too bad the shaved Mohawk,  multiple tattoos, and piercings counteracted all of it. Even so, he was still a professional until he opened his mouth.

“Oooh, going back to school?” Bahorel asked, throwing the college flyer back to Grantaire.

Grantaire shrugged and bit his lip. “Was thinking about it. Get my teaching degree or something so when my luck finally runs out with this, I can just fall back on teaching.” Grantaire shoved the flyer back into his bag and moved over to the other door in the back of the room. “Wish me luck.”

“God be with ye,” Bahorel called back, making a sign of the cross in the air. Grantaire took a breath and opened the door.

“Mr. White?” he asked, knocking on the door softly before stepping into the room. Instead, he was met with his publisher’s assistant. “Hey, Joly. Will he be back soon? I’m not that late. Am I?” He looked to his watch as Joly spoke.

“Oh, no, his daughter called asking for him. I was told to ask you to have a seat. He should be right back,” the smaller man relayed with an infectious smile.

“How’s Bossuet?” Grantaire asked, collapsing in the seat opposite the other.

“He’s good. In a cast right now on his leg. He fell in the shower. It was bad.” Joly grinned and shrugged. “Still smiling though. Always smiling.”

“That’s good. Chetta?”

“Really good. She’s great actually. Like…yeah.” The young man’s cheeks burned bright red and he gave a shy smile to the papers in front of him.

“That’s so eloquent. Why aren’t you an author yet? With sentence structure and description like that…” Grantaire mimed an explosion by his head and grinned.

“Shut up. I can tell him not to keep working with you.” Joly threatened emptily. He jumped as his phone vibrated between them on the desk before he quickly reached for it. “Sir? Of course, sir. No, sir. No, you should definitely go. Stay with her. It’s okay. R’s the only appointment today. I can handle the publications and printings. Yes, sir. I’ll make Bahorel do work.” He laughed. “Yes, sir, he is. I’ll reschedule with R and he can see you later. When are you expecting to be back? Thursday? Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Don’t worry about anything here. Yes, sir. Have a safe travel. Goodbye.”

Grantaire stared at him and raised an eyebrow. “What was that? Is something wrong with Cosette?”

“No, nothing so drastic. She gets to go to Paris. She’s Vogue’s photographer for the fashion show.” Joly was positively beaming in excitement for his.

“That’s great! She’s pulling out all the big guns now, huh?” he asked with a grin. The idea of Paris as something other than Under Attack was slightly comforting for Grantaire. After he’d spent so much time running through the streets and hiding in alleyways within his dreams, he liked to remember that it _was_ known as the city of love. He sighed and sat back in the chair, running a hand through his messy curls. His fingers caught on dried paint from the night before and he scowled slightly, mentally reminding himself to check it out later.

“Yeah. She’s always wanted to go back to Paris. Did you know she was born in France? Before she was adopted by Mr. White,” Joly said conversationally. He smiled and fixed some papers on his desk. “You don’t have to stay, R. You can leave, if you’d like. Mr. White won’t be back any time soon. Work on the manuscript some more. It’ll only speed up publishing. And you’ll get paid more for a larger excerpt.”

Grantaire nodded and stood up. “Yeah, sure. Wanna go get amazingly drunk for seven in the morning?” he asked teasingly.

“I think I’ll pass. I have to stay here and direct calls from the publishing houses. And make sure Bahorel doesn’t run through any walls.”

“Hey, he’s a good guy. He just makes bad decisions,” Grantaire laughed, shaking his head. He stared at his friend for a few seconds and hesitated on his feet and his words. “Do you know much about the French Revolution?” he asked with a frown.

Joly looked up at him quizzically. “Not really, no. I mean, there might have been a documentary about it on TV once but I wasn’t paying attention. Ask Feuilly. I’m sure he’ll know something. Why?”

“It’s just…these dreams I’ve been having. We’re in Paris and we’re fighting and you’re there. I don’t know why I didn’t notice before but you’re there, fighting too. Tending to the wounded as a doctor.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t go near sick or bleeding people. That’s how you know it’s a dream,” Joly laughed, shaking his head. “Not my cup of tea, thank you. I do not want anyone’s liquids on or near me. I don’t want their death breath either.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Grantaire accused with a grin. “It must just be ‘cause we spend so much time together. My subconscious just puts you in automatically.”

“Well, tell your subconscious that I’m flattered but not interested.” The phone started to ring again and Grantaire moved to the door. “I’ll see you later, R. I’ll text if Bossuet wants to go out tonight.”

Grantaire nodded and saluted halfheartedly before slowly easing the door shut after he stepped out of it. He shook off thoughts of his nightmares as if he could shake them from his soul and turned around only to be beaned in the face with a paper ball.

“How was that? Is the Bossman in a good mood? Can I leave early? Got a hot date tonight.”

“With that girl that giggles incessantly or with Feuilly?” Grantaire asked as he grabbed the paper and threw it away without looking at it. It might be a manuscript, it might be a receipt, it might be blank. He wasn’t liable. If it was important, Bahorel would go get it himself.

“The girl. Feuilly and I are off again and she and I are on again. Keep up with my love life. It’s not that complicated,” Bahorel scoffed, already balling up another piece of paper.

“It’s more complicated than mine,” Grantaire pointed out, rolling his eyes. He grabbed his bag off of Bahorel’s desk and crammed everything back into it.

“Dude, a mothball’s love life is more complicated than yours.”

“Your attempts are in vain,” Grantaire addressed to change the subject. “Mr. White isn’t here at all. Joly has the building on lock down and has promised to make you work, which means you will because he doesn’t break promises.”

Bahorel pouted and threw the ball into the wastebasket. “I know he doesn’t. Bad news for me. God, I’m gonna have to read this bullshit.” He sat up and reached for a manuscript. “Do you know what this is? This is some fifty plus year old woman with empty nest syndrome and a husband with erectile dysfunction and I suffer because he’s horny.”

“I never thought I’d hear you complain that someone was horny,” Grantaire laughed.

“Fifty plus years old, R. God, it’s like you don’t even know me.” Bahorel sighed dramatically and threw himself back in his chair. Grantaire rolled his eyes and shook his head before backing to the door.

“I’ll see you later, loser. Text me when you free yourself so we can go get something to drink.” He let the door close to Bahorel’s protests and smiled to himself as he started down the way. It was early enough that he didn’t need to worry about grabbing a cab just yet. He could enjoy himself. As much as he could enjoy himself with no money to spend, but, hey. He’d manage. So long as he wasn’t at home with the potential to fall asleep again.

The nightmares weren’t even that bad. Some of his favorite movies were more violent than them. It was just…that pang of regret he woke up with. He always felt like he could have done something to save them, save these people that he knew. He knew he knew them. He knew little things about them like their favorite food and their favorite color and how they laughed and where they slept. And he’d think about all of these things as he watched them die.

The dreams were rarely sequential. Sometimes there would be half of them lying dead in the streets, then they’d be back, up and running, the next time. Sometimes one dream would loop a death over and over again. Sometimes none of them died but the next night it would only be the blond one left, staring down Grantaire.  Those nights, it never felt quite the same. Like he was playing a different character in the convoluted plot for a while.

Grantaire shook his head and stepped up to a group of people waiting for a street light to change. To distract himself, he made up stories about all of the people muddled around. The little girl with her mother was being pulled out of school because she couldn’t be vaccinated and some asshat mother purposely didn’t have her kid vaccinated so now the little girl had to find a different school. It was a fucked up world when that was a real possibility. The old man who was grinning from ear to ear was just out of his coffee date with an equally happy woman and he got a second date. And the blond man just in front of Grantaire…well, he was coming back from a modeling shoot, obviously. All blond hair and sharp cheekbones and eyes that cut through a black soul and clothes that looked like they’d been plucked straight from magazine pages. The blond shifted to play with an earpiece he was wearing and for the briefest moment, those eyes met Grantaire’s. The author quickly adverted his eyes and studied a crack in the concrete sidewalk very intently.

He didn’t move until the amoeba of people pitched forward and he followed suit. Except, he only made it a step before he was very thoroughly pressed against someone else and his chest was being moved to the beat of someone else’s breaths.  He stumbled back and immediately opened his mouth to apologize before someone shoved him forward again. This time he crashed into the guy’s side and he saw the guy’s arm jerk back. As the coffee crashed to the ground along with what was left of Grantaire’s dignity, the blond man simply blinked slowly.

“I stood in line for fifteen minutes waiting on that…” he said. His voice was very distant and calculated. Like Spock was sleep deprived and not dealing with Kirk or Bones.

“I know and I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you another, I swear…” How Grantaire was going to buy another was beyond him because his royalties check hadn’t come in and wasn’t going to be much anyway. Maybe he could flirt it out of the barista. “I swear I didn’t mean to. I’m such an idiot…”

“And they didn’t even get my order right,” the blond said, as if he was completely oblivious to Grantaire’s life falling apart in front of him. “Which I’m trying to be really understanding about because I know they don’t make enough and yelling at minimum wage workers probably puts you down with other scum of the Earth but I was really looking forward to the taste of an early death.”

“Sorry?” Grantaire finally asked, finding his voice under his embarrassment.

“Five shots of expresso. Death by thirty.”

“Do you need to talk to someone?” Which was rich coming from Grantaire.

“No, I’m always like this.”

“Oh.”

Grantaire hadn’t noticed all of the people jostling by them but when he looked up, they were alone and the light was red again and the pole was telling them to Wait. He took a moment to breathe and compose himself. And to look the other man over. The guy had a nice undercut going for him. Paler blond on top, dirty blond on the sides. Probably natural because it looked like the guy had had long hair until recently if the odd tan-lines on his neck were anything to go by. Grantaire hated looking for things like that. He wasn’t Sherlock bloody Holmes. He ended up just making himself look like an ass because he was usually wrong. He lived in a world of fantasy and pretty correlations and planned foreshadowing. Real life was rarely so kind. Maybe the dude just had a thing for collars or something. Judging from his sharp look and the exhaustion in his eyes, Grantaire would guess the guy was twenty-four at most and finishing a masters.

“I’m twenty-seven and just want to get to the law firm on time,” the blond growled, wiping his hand off on a napkin he produced from his leather bag.

Sherlock Homes would be kind enough to beat the shit out of Grantaire.

“I’m Enjolras,” the man greeted, holding out his newly cleaned hand.

Grantaire took a breath and nodded to buy himself time. God, he was beautiful. It wasn’t fair. “Grantaire. And I’m really sorry.”

“So, is your name Grantaire or Sorry?” a second man asked, bouncing up to Enjolras and throwing an arm around his shoulders casually. He was considerably shorter than Enjolras, more filled out, and happier. “I, for the record, am always Courfeyrac.”

“As your mood or your name? I would have guessed your name was Dad,” Grantaire said with a grin, shaking the man’s other hand.

“My name. My mood is usually bubbly. No one would dare call me Dad.”

“Not yet. Courfeyrac would be a great father, will be a great father, as soon as he learns to grow up himself,” Enjolras said with a genuine smile. “He’s a kindergarten teacher,” he clarified.

“I love kids. Can’t wait to meet someone, settle down, and adopt,” Courfeyrac agreed proudly.

“Adopt? Why not just have your own?” Grantaire asked, shifting his bag on his shoulder.

“Oh, no,” Enjolras breathed just as Courfeyrac beamed.

“Hi, I’m Courfeyrac. It’s great to meet you. I’m a kindergarten teacher, a high school theater teacher, and I’m really, _really_ gay. Have been my whole life. I’ve known since I was thirteen and first hit puberty and started to notice those things. Thought I was trans for a while in high school but, no, I’m just absurdly gay,” he said, rather loudly too. Grantaire blushed and ducked his head. That wasn’t something he thought he’d ever hear out loud, in public, directed at him.

“That isn’t a problem is it?” Enjolras asked, looking a little stressed. “I can make him stop. He just gets ahead of himself sometimes.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just…I’ve never met someone quite as out as you,” Grantaire admitted with a small shrug. What must have been the third crowd was starting to gather around them. He didn’t have anywhere to be but Enjolras had said something about needing to get somewhere.

“What are you?” Courfeyrac asked, in turn making Enjolras blanch. “Actually, you know what, we’re late so if you could just text it to the statue over here, that’d be great,” the teacher said, quickly pulling out a notebook from his jacket and scrawling Enjolras’ number across it. He grabbed Grantaire’s hand and shoved the paper against his palm. “Have fun. See you soon.”

Grantaire was left watching the two men disappear into the amoeba of a crowd that was shifting around him. The paper sat heavy in his fist. He was not going to lose that slip.

**Gideon stormed into their little hide away, a piece of paper crumbled in their hand. "What the fuck is this shit?" they demanded, throwing it at Michael. "You said we'd be safe here. You promised no one would see our faces or know our names. Now a ten year old girl is on your fucking wanted posters," they snarled, seething with rage.**

**Michael slowly took the paper and looked at the newest wanted sign. Sure enough, Gideon’s face was right next to that of the little girl the angel insisted on dragging everywhere. “I told you not to bring her. I told you to find him somewhere safe. I said we’d try to keep you safe while it didn’t interfere with our own safety.” They let the paper float back down to the table in front of  themselves before continuing what they were doing.**

**“I’m not going to leave her on the streets to be absorbed by the schools again!” Gideon snapped. When Michael didn’t look up again, Gideon grabbed the knife they’d been given and stabbed it into the table, over the wanted sign.**

**Michael slowly looked up. “What is your problem?” they demanded lowly.**

**“My problem is that you promised…”**

**“I promised to try my best to protect you, but not at the risk of the thousands of others I’m trying to save! Put the kid back on the street where you found her.”**

**“Those schools are not the place for any child!”**

**“And neither are the tunnels! You care for your own and I’ll care for mine! I’m trying to save the world. We don’t have time to deal with a human child in the mix. If she dies, then we can look to saving her for Eternity. Until then, do not speak to me of who I’m supposed to be protecting. We were all supposed to protect the Earth and look at how that turned out. I’m just trying to keep what is left from continuing to burn and convolute into something even more hideous,” Michael seethed, barely containing their rage under the perfect façade they’d mastered over the centuries.**

**“Something as hideous as you?” Gideon asked maliciously, fingers curled into fists. “Tunnels are no place for Angels either but here we are. After you promised I’d never be down here again.”**

**“Would you rather be on the streets? Would you rather take your chances with disease and fire and filth?” Michael demanded. “With the evil that runs amuck up there? Unable to help on a scale that will mean anything?”**

**“It would mean something to those I do help. And it would be better than the evil that has infiltrated your precious hide away.” Gideon shook their head and grabbed their knife from the table. “Don’t look for me later.”**

**Gideon let the door slam behind them and closed their eyes as soon as they figured they were alone. This was going to be a long Rest of the World. Half the time they just wished the apocalypse would happen and stop dragging on the existence of pained lives. The angel sighed, ran a calloused hand over their face, and stood still. They imagined they could hear the world up above. The crying, the screaming, the moaning. All of the hurt and anger. They tried to tell themselves they were unjustified to feel such things as they did. For all intents and purposes, they  were safe. They didn’t have to worry about death. They only had one human they had to keep from dying. They only had one person to lose. They couldn’t feel the hurt the human population was feeling. Not on that scale. They should just stop taking their pain for them. And they would if they could. But…they couldn’t. As hard as the angel tried, they just couldn’t. Gadreel had suggested if they trusted God fully again, existence would be easier. After seeing what the Earth looked like currently though? Gideon didn’t think they’d ever fully trust their Maker again.**

**The angel sighed and shoved their hair out of their face before continuing on down the hallway. They had to find Geremi before she got into even more trouble. The angel rounded a corner just in time to see Michael and Gabriel come in from the other side. As always, they were locked in a heated, hushed discussion. Gideon quickly ducked into a doorway and listened with bated breath.**

**“I don’t like it, Michael,” Gabriel said, slightly out of breath. “I don’t like them. They don’t seem like they know what they’re fighting for anymore. They’re not fighting for us. They’re fighting for themselves. They’ve put two beings higher than the rest of the world.”**

**“What would you have me do, Gabriel? They’re our brother. I can’t have them thrown out again. They left once, they’re about to again. We need all the power we can get. Raphael needs all the hands they can get in the infirmary. We need soldiers with weapons that heal and hurt. We cannot afford to send bodies away,” Michael argued. Gideon frowned and curled his fingers against a cut in the concrete wall behind them.**

**“I would have you teach them a lesson. The way they defy you is embarrassing. Imagine the human they bring sees that blatant disrespect and figures she can do it to. You’re an archangel. We cannot allow lower angels to usurp us because they don’t feel like doing their job.”**

**“How do you propose I teach them a lesson? From what I’ve seen, the pain within their heart far outweighs anything I can do to their body,” Michael argued.**

**“Take the girl from them. Send her away. Hide her away, I don’t care. Just do it,” Gabriel answered coldly.**

**“I will not risk a human’s life because of an insolent angel! When Lucifer turned against our Father…”**

**“Enough, Michael! You hang on to that story as if it’s going to save the Earth but it hasn’t yet and it won’t!” Gabriel exploded. Gideon cringed against the wall and thanked God they weren’t on the other end of that outburst. “I understand we damned Lucifer when they dissented but Gideon isn’t Lucifer! Gideon isn’t pure evil. Gideon can be reformed.”**

**“You sound like the politicians that corrupted our Earth, Gabriel,” Michael hissed. Gideon glanced out and saw two shadows of wings which meant they needed to get behind shelter because if Michael and Gabriel lost it, their grace was liable to burn through anything nearby and Gideon was in human clothing.**

**“If I take the girl, we lose Gideon completely. Let me save the world how I want to and you can continue to plan attacks.”**

**“The world is dying faster than you’re saving it, Michael. It’s time to start playing harder. Existence is about to get really difficult and you’re going to have to keep up with the change.”**

**Gideon cowered in the corner as Gabriel went storming by, narrowly missing being cut across the face with the angel’s wings. Gideon waited a few seconds and slowly peaked around the corner again to see Michael, sans wings, standing in the middle of the hallway, looking completely lost and defeated. Gideon realized with a heavy heart that it wasn’t a good look on the angel but probably one they’d be wearing often from now on. Gideon watched the other angel leave with angry red gashes down their back, before they too took their leave, looking for Geremi before something truly awful happened.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I should probably get a beta at this point but I have no idea how to go about that so my rereading it and Grammar checking it will have to do. I've edited some things in the first chapter. Biggest thing you need to know is that Boy Jeremy is now Girl Geremi within the Gideon storyline. Also, in my actual nano story, I swapped Ross (Enjolras) and Grant (Grantaire) to Rose and Grace so if you see incorrect pronouns at any point, please tell me! Or words like Other that suddenly became Othis. I worked on this for thirty minutes the other night editing and then Word crashed so I lost 800 words + 30 minutes editing. I almost cried. I yelled instead and drank two bottles of water. Please tell me mistakes in the comments and if anyone wants to be a beta? :)
> 
> As always, find me [here](http://vague--ambition.tumblr.com/ask)

“So, there we are, right? I’m hanging off the ropes, can hardly see through this eye,” Bahorel was saying as he gestured to his right eye. He was perched on the back of the booth he was sharing with Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire. Apparently the giggly girl cut out on him. “The bastard thinks I’m done for, ‘cause, y’know, the whole dominant side. But I was able to duck under him and be all ‘bad news for you, sport, I’m left handed!’ And then I landed four solid shots to his ribs and one to his jaw as he tried to process what I’d just said. It was _fantastic_ ,” he laughed.

“Why do we employ you?” Joly sighed with a good natured smile that betrayed any chastisement that could be found within his words.

“Someone’s gotta read the old woman smut,” Grantaire laughed, tipping his beer bottle back against his lips as he slung his arm over the back of the booth.

“Oh, God, don’t get me started. I’m so pissed we’re publishing that. It’s awful. I thought White was all about integrity and shit,” Bahorel bemoaned as he slid back into the seat.

“He is, but we’ve got to stay afloat and, for whatever reason, those kinds of books sell,” Joly said with a shrug.

Bossuet grinned and knocked his shoulder against his roommate’s. “If you came into our apartment, you’d see who kept _that_ industry afloat,” he teased with a wide grin.

“You?” Grantaire asked with a raised eyebrow when he saw Joly floundering for a retort.

Bossuet’s cheeks burned for a moment before an easy grin broke over his face. “You weren’t supposed to tell,” he laughed. He kicked Grantaire’s shin under the table and shrugged as he reached for his own glass of chocolate milk.

“Um…I’m sorry, do you have room for one more?” a relatively strong voice asked from the head of their table.

Grantaire looked up to assess the situation. It wasn’t like he could do much from his corner spot. It was a rule that whoever got the corner seat got no leadership positions for the night. And, wow, with a body like that, to be so gorgeous, Grantaire would be sure of what he was saying as he approached a group of completely random strangers. The guy was tall and had dark skin with darker hair that he had styled into an undercut. He was all proper with his sweater vest over a button down shirt and khakis.

“Sorry, yeah, sure, but who are you?” Bahorel asked with no finesse as he shifted over in the booth, cramming Grantaire against the wall.

“My name is Ralph,” the man answered with a smile, holding his hand out to the boxer. He had long, smooth fingers that were a stark contrast to Bahorel’s calloused ones.

“Like Ralph Lauren?” Grantaire asked sarcastically with a vaguely welcoming smile.

“No, it’s actually short for Raphael. Angel of healing, correct? My parents always wanted me to be a doctor. However, I’d prefer to not be named after an angel. I’m hardly free of sin,” the man said with an easy smile. “So, I’ve reduced it down to Ralph. But, really, call me Combeferre if we’re going to be informal about it.”

“Hey, Raphael!” Bahorel laughed, hitting Grantaire’s shoulder far harder than he had to. “Grantaire over there’s got a character in his book named Raphael. But that’s actually referring to the Angel dude.”

“So, you’re Grantaire,” Combeferre said, pointing at Grantaire. The author bowed as much as he could from where he was. “Who are the rest of you?”

“I’m Bahorel,” the boxer/editor answered, holding out his hand.

“He reads porn for a living,” Grantaire interjected with a grin.

Bahorel blushed under his dark tan and elbowed  him hard. “I’m an editor,” he clarified. “One of the projects I have right now was inspired by bad fanfiction.” He shuddered at the idea and nursed his drink before taking a generous swallow.

“I’m Joly, this is my roommate Bossuet,” Joly said with a smile, holding his hand out at the same time that Bossuet did. “What brings you to our humble but boisterous booth?”

“Well, my best friend is actually across the way and sent me over to see why Grantaire over there hasn’t been answering his texts,” Combeferre laughed, looking at the man with pure amusement in his shockingly bright blue eyes.

“Who’s your best friend? Who’d you give your number to, Grantaire? Why was I not updated about this?” Bahorel demanded in a slight fervor.

Grantaire rolled his eyes and shoved him away lightly. “It doesn’t matter. You found out and that’s what’s important. I couldn’t take you away from Arnold’s sex dungeon.” He grinned and reached for a mozzarella stick.

“But who is he?” Bossuet asked impatiently.

“His name’s Enjolras. He’s a first year lawyer. And he’s very upset with you,” Combeferre answered, looking at Grantaire as sternly as he could manage before dissolving into a wide grin again. “To be honest, I’m just glad he’s interested. I was starting to worry about him.”

“That sounds like Aromantasim erasure,” Joly hummed as he stirred his straw around his fruity drink.

“No, trust me, I don’t mean it that way. As someone who’s asexual…”

“That’s a shame,” Bahorel and Grantaire said at the same time, causing Combeferre to lose his train of thought and stare at the others for a while. He frowned before continuing.

“As someone on that end of the spectrum, I truly didn’t mean it that way. I mean that it’s nice to see him interested in something that wasn’t the Bar exam or a case or his suits.”

Joly smiled up at Combeferre winningly and Grantaire couldn’t help but admire his best friend’s personality. “I’m glad you knew what all those words meant. So many people don’t. Grantaire is trying to fix that in his novels, aren’t you, R?”

Grantaire frowned and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m around all you weirdos. It would be nigh impossible to write a story not featuring various sexualities and genders.”

“Almost all the characters in his current piece are androgynous,” Joly continued. “It’s refreshing to read an entire work done with ‘they’s. Really puts into perspective how many times you use a pronoun.”

“Try being his editor when he decides ten chapters in that he wants to change the gender of not one but _two_ main characters,” Bahorel groaned. He hit his head against the table and Combeferre rubbed his back as if he’d grown up doing so.

“This is the angel story, right?” Combeferre asked. “That’s an interesting take. I’ve always thought it was a bit strange how we gender angels when the Bible specifically says that angels cannot reproduce. That should lead us to believe they are without genitals and therefore, by human stands, without sex and gender.”

“Actually, in the Bible, angels are never said to have a physical form,” Grantaire answered. “Most media portrays them as taking a vessel or possessing a human, therefore taking on their sex but not necessarily their gender, as gender is a feeling and sex is genitals.”

Combeferre grinned and bit his lip before looking down. “Look, I don’t beg. I get things done on my own and say goodbye to the things I cannot do.  But, please, go talk to Enjolras and woo him as you’ve wooed me.” He paused, lost in thought, and then continued. “I’m just a boy, sitting in front of a girl, asking  him to give his best friend a chance.”

“Ooooh, Grantaire-y, you have to. He paraphrased The Movie,” Bossuet stage whispered across the table to him.

“I don’t have to do anything. I don’t care for that movie. That is your favorite movie but not mine.” Grantaire pulled his phone from his pocket and smiled shyly at the texts on his screen. “It had absolutely no effect on whether or not I was going to answer his back.”

Combeferre grinned and stood up, straightening his shirt. He gave a winning smile to each person individually. “I think my ears can withstand the lower decibel that Courfeyrac over there will now adopt. It was lovely meeting all of you.” He smiled and nodded before going back to his table.

“He’s hot,” Bahorel said once a silence had fallen over their booth. “Like, really, really hot. It isn’t fair.”

“That’s very descriptive of you,” Grantaire hummed without looking up from his phone.

“Yeah, what happened to the old woman smut? Use that to entertain us,” Bossuet laughed. He grabbed his glass again and watched Bahorel flounder for a few moments as he tried to find a response.

“Plagiarism!” he finally got out. “Those words aren’t mine. Can’t use them. Sorry.”

“Oh, but what words are truly yours?” Joly sighed, though he had an awful grin. “I mean, for all intents and purposes, if a letter is given a number, this conversation is spelled out somewhere in Pi’s decibels,” he pointed out with a shrug.

“Hey, none of that shit at the dinner table,” Bahorel ordered before he quickly reached for the nearest alcoholic beverage and downed half of it in one go. Grantaire subtly moved his beer away. “That’s bullshit. That’s higher level thinking and we don’t need it here.”

Joly laughed and sipped his soda. “I think it’s interesting,” he hummed with a smile.

Suddenly a shadow loomed over their table again. “Sorry, were you just talking about the limitless possibility of code in Pi’s infinite tail?”  Combeferre asked, sitting by Joly this time. Bahorel hit his head against the table and let out a mewl.

Grantaire shook his head and continued texting before he was suddenly pressed against the wall again.

“Hey, I saw the Angel come over here and I figured he must be boring you so I came over. You look like a fashionable man, which I commend you for. May I suggest a line of conversation that will save you from death by boredom? Hi, I’m Courfeyrac by the way,” he explained, holding out his hand.

“Bahorel…” Bahorel said, slowly extending his own hand.

“You look uneasy. Did R tell you about my inability to control my brain to mouth filter?” he asked looking at Grantaire. Grantaire shrugged and shook his head before tipping his bottle back to his lips. He froze when he looked up and saw Enjolras standing awkwardly at the head of their booth.

“Hey, move, let me out,” he demanded, shoving on Bahorel who in turn shoved Courfeyrac. He gracefully fell out of the seat and Bahorel scooted after him so Grantaire could slip out. He stood in front of Enjolras equally awkwardly and smiled. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” Enjolras reciprocated with a smile. Grantaire quickly moved to grab two chairs from an empty table and set them up before taking one as Enjolras took the other. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, we come here all the time,” Grantaire said, looking around. “We always have. Since college. Something here for everyone.”

“Yeah, we used to come here to study together. Well, freshmen year when we were all studying the same things, anyway,” Enjolras said with a nod.

“You guys were all on the same track?” Grantaire asked with a snort, looking at the other two.

“Combeferre’s always been med, so he was pre-med while Courfeyrac and I were pre-law, but we had all the same basics,” Enjolras explained with a shrug.

“Courfeyrac was going into law,” Grantaire asked dubiously. He glanced back over at the other man who was flinging his arms around dramatically.

“It’s what his parents wanted. I actually remember when he switched. We were hosting this fundraising, kiddie festival thing and this little girl came running over to him.  She had, like, a butterfly or something painted on her face and she was just exhausted, you could see it. She asked him to tie her shoe and by the time he was done, she’d fallen asleep against his chest. He’d picked her up to set in his lap or something. I saw law leave his eyes and teaching was there. I don’t think he moved for thirty minutes afterwards,” Enjolras laughed. He talked with his hands a lot and Grantaire was completely torn between watching his face and watching his hands because both were equally mesmerizing.

“You have great friends,” Grantaire finally said with a smile.

“I have two friends,” Enjolras corrected. “But they all seem to be getting along,” he pointed out, nodding at the group behind them. Everyone was engaged in a conversation. Bossuet was laughing at the completely serious argument about dinosaurs and robots Joly and Combeferre were having, however they got there from Pi. Bahorel and Courfeyrac sounded like the mean girls from high school and also like they were talking about Grantaire’s clothes.

For a beautiful, probably buzzed, definitely love drunk, moment, Grantaire felt like he was right at home.

_“We are the children of the revolution!” the leader called out from where he was, standing on a table at the front of the room. Shouts of approval rang out around him. The color was high in his cheeks and his hair was neatly pulled back. His clothes still looked like his mother had only just finished sewing his name into them. It was early in the crusade._

_“The leaders of this land would have you believe that our survival should make us complacent in what they do now!” the shorter best friend followed. His eyes still shined brightly with the laughter and mischief of easier days. “We can’t allow them to believe this! They use this to justify treating us as things instead of people, of denying us our rights!”_

_“We won’t stand for our people to be shot down in the streets any longer. We won’t stand for those who fought for a freer world in 1799 to be left starving in the streets now,” the other  continued. “Something’s got to happen! Something has to give!” Blue eyes flashed dangerously, daring someone to disagree. However, he was looking for a fight in the wrong room because all of the young men here, boys really, were more than happy to agree with them._

_“I say we start fightin’ back!” a brute of a man called from the back of the room. “Start shootin’ ‘em down in the streets too!”_

_“We know you’re eager for a fight and we know that’s a lot of the reason you stay, but we have to stress a peaceful approach first,” the young leader urged. The fire in his eyes would soon change opinion, though._

_The meeting continued on, all hot speech and passion and cheers of agreement. Hours they talked and soon the speeches turned into stories into laughter into fond goodbyes and good nights._

_The young men soon all exited with wine and good spirits and the flame of rebellion ablaze in their eyes. Soon only the leader remained. You exit too, slowly and stumbling. Laughter is not in your breast. Fear is. Your brain is clogged with alcohol. You make it halfway down a hallway before you have to use the wall to brace yourself as your world starts to spin and go black at the edges. By the time you clear your head and vision again, there’s suddenly a man right in front of you, holding your shoulders with gentle, capable hands. You should feel safe. He’s a doctor. Instead, you’re terrified because he’s…everything you’re not. Your leader’s best friend. The right hand of the revolution._

_“Why do you continue to show up?” he demands._

_You blink at him before a slow grin inks across your face. “Are you asking me to leave?” you ask in a slur._

_“I’m asking you why you continue to show up to meetings about a cause you do not believe in,” he demands._

_“If I was only allowed to meetings that proclaimed causes I believe in, I would not be able to keep much company.” You grin some more and sway on the spot, glad he’s holding your shoulders because you would be pitching back away from him if you could and you’d probably fall over._

_“This is serious! We need to know that when it comes to it, you’ll be there to fight with us.”_

_“You’re asking me to die for a cause I don’t believe in?” you asked with raised eyebrows. “That’s a big request.”_

_“I will not watch my friends die because they trusted you,” the man snarls, blue eyes flashing as hard as diamond. You imagine this is as close as you’ll ever get to such a mineral._

_“You don’t trust me?”_

_“I don’t even like you,” the man spits. It strikes closer than you’d like._

_“You’ll know if I’m there or not. No one will die at my expense or my blame,” you growl out in turn. You manage to shake his hands off of yourself and shoulder your way past. It isn’t until you’re to the door that you realize your pant leg is wet with wine and there’s a cut from a jagged piece of your wine bottle that you dropped. It’s a damn shame._

**“Germy?” Gideon called, stepping into the small room the angel and the young girl were sharing. The ten year old didn’t disappoint, jumping out from behind the door and holding up a toy gun she carried for intimidation purposes. No one ever bought it. No one was that stupid. Orange cap or not, it was obviously a toy. Gideon clutched at their chest and fell to their knees. “Oh, mortal wound. Why must I be so frail?” they gasped dramatically.**

**Geremi laughed and launched herself at the angel, hugging them tightly. “Did ya’ yell at ‘em like you said you would?” she asked, pulling her head back to look the angel in the face.**

**Gideon nodded and stood up. They made sure to keep an arm below Geremi to catch her if she fell. “I did. I marched right up to Michael, threw the paper down and demanded an explanation. When they couldn’t give one, I smited them all on the spot. It was messy but someone had to do it.”**

**“Nooo! You can’t do that! We need them,” Geremi groaned. “How’re we s’posed to live now? We ain’t got no protection.” She pouted at Gideon very convincingly.**

**Gideon sighed and pulled the girl into her bed, laying her down and studying her face. “Okay, okay, I didn’t smite them. Not yet. But I did talk to them.”**

**“Really?! Did they say I could go out more now that there’s no use hiding me?” she asked excitedly.**

**Gideon frowned and shook their head. “No, you ridiculous girl. They said they’d be extra careful and make sure no one ever saw you again,” they lied.**

**Geremi pouted some more. “That’s not fair.”**

**“Life isn’t fair,” Gideon retorted as they rolled their eyes.**

**“This isn’t life. This is survival,” Geremi yawned, turning on her side.**

**“It’s keeping you alive. You have life,” Gideon pointed out as they pulled a cover up around the girl’s shoulders. “Where did you hear something so awful anyway?”**

**“That’s awful?” she scoffed. “My mom used to say it when she was around,” she explained with a shrug. She grabbed the blanket and tucked it around herself again. “Stay?” she asked softly. It was obvious she was already drifting to sleep.**

**“Of course. Always,” Gideon breathed, sitting on a chair by the bed. It was the same answer they’d been giving her since she asked the very first night the angel found her on the streets. Gideon listened to her breathing even out and then got lost in their own thoughts. Angels didn’t need to sleep but Gideon found it particularly useful to just stop and think every so often. So they took opportunities like this where they couldn’t leave, even if they wanted to, for some awful reason.**

**The time ticked on. Angels and victims probably passed the door. Geremi fell further asleep. It wasn’t until Gideon was suddenly roughly shoved against a wall that they even knew someone was in the room.**

**Gabriel’s eyes were a blue blaze as they glared at Gideon. Gideon swallowed but didn’t try to escape.**

**“What the hell are you doing here?” Gabriel asked lowly. “Why don’t you just leave? You’ll protect her more if you leave.”**

**Well…that was interesting. “What does it matter to you? Michael called me back. I couldn’t disobey if I wanted to. They’re more powerful than I am,” Gideon answered evenly. Their eyes flickered over to Geremi but she still seemed to be asleep.**

**“And I’m telling you to leave,” Gabriel growled with rage like fire.**

**“You’re asking me to. And you don’t trump Michael, I’m sorry. Trust me, sometimes I wish you did,” Gideon retorted as they tried to get away from Gabriel as much as they could. However, there was a wall behind them and they were already against it.**

**Gabriel seethed before suddenly stepping back. “If you betray Michael, if you betray any of us, I will find you myself, no matter where we are or what we’re doing, and I’ll smite you to Hell and make sure it takes as long as possible for your Grantaire to descend.”**

**Gideon had a sharp retort on their tongue but a wiser mind. They stayed silent, opting to glare at Gabriel’s shoes instead. “I understand,” they finally bit out. Gabriel sneered at them one more time before the higher angel stepped back out in the hallway.**

**Geremi rolled over in bed but remained asleep.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, minor edits made to Chapter 1 and 2. I've got a beta! [This!](http://adidas-menzel.tumblr.com/) wonderful human being is the reason this chapter will be less awful. Thank you all so much who left Kudos on this previous trainwreck of a fic. I had no idea everything was so jumbled up!
> 
> Wanna yell? Wanna talk? Wanna rec something? Talk to me [Here](http://vague--ambition.tumblr.com/ask)

_You’re crowded against the wall and there’s hot breath down your neck. Your knees are shaking, unable to hold your weight. You want to cry. It all feels so good and so awful at the same time. Your fearless leader’s lips are relentless against your neck and you try to ignore the pounding of your heart against your chest. You like to imagine you can feel his as well._

_“You are the most infuriating human I know,” he breathes against your collar bone._

_You feel your lips pick into a grim grin. “Better than some dogs, I suppose? Nothing more than a nuisance?” you goad, dragging your fingers down his back on the pads._

_His eyes flash and his jaw sets. He looks even more like the images that come to mind when you inhale every Greek myth you can get your hands on. “Don’t speak of yourself that way,” he snaps. He accents his point with a roll of his hips against yours. For a moment, you forget to respond._

_“You’ve made worse accusations within the parameters of our arguments,” you point out eventually. You ignore that your voice is an octave higher than it should be._

_“In the heat of the moment,” he defends before quickly moving to kiss your neck. You worry about the paint smears that are left there. You take a moment to imagine he comes away with green lips instead of the flushed pink they were when they disappeared from your sight._

_“Is this not the heat of the moment?” you bring up. He groans and you do in turn as well because, rather than answer, he’s sunk his teeth into your skin and is sucking a bruise against the canvas there._

_His possessive hold on you is enough to tell you his answer._

_His long fingers fall to your cravat and quickly untie it without choking you. He holds his hand out to the side and lets it float to the ground along with any moral stipulation you might have had. Then the buttons of your overcoat. His hands smooth over your shoulders to shove the coat off of your body. Then the ties of your shirt. He’s slow and methodical. His hips do not stop against yours. All of the awful feelings are gone and you’re left with just pleasure. You want to melt as much as you want to press back against his body._

_“My mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun,” he whispers. His fingers have stopped with your shirt and he’s, instead, kissing your eyebrows. When you close your eyes, he gently kisses your eyelids. “Coral is far more red than her lips red.” A gentle kiss to your lips. “If snow be white, then her breasts are dun.” You try not to groan as he dips his head to kiss under your collar bone. A hand twines in your hair as he breathes, “If hair be wires, black wires grow from her head.”_

_“I have seen roses damask’d red and white,” you manage to cut in with a grin. He smiles back at you with the radiance of Apollo. “But no such roses see I in her cheeks.” He stays still as you lean forward to kiss his cheeks softly._

_“And in some perfumes is there more delight than in the breath from my mistress reeks,” he adds, kicking an empty pyramid of bottles away from you._

_“But I love to hear her speak, yet know I well, that music hath a far more pleasing sound.” That earns you a laugh and a kiss. His hands rest easy on your waist._

_“I grant I never saw a goddess go. My mistress, when she treads, walks on the ground,” he says, maneuvering you onto his feet and spinning you in a few beats of a song._

_“And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare,” you answer with a grin._

_He presses his forehead to yours. “As any she belied with false compare,” he  finishes in a whisper._

Grantaire jerked awake with tightness from the corners of his eyes to his temples. He quickly rubbed the back of his hands across his face to erase the proof of his tears and slid out of bed. He grabbed his phone as he made his way to his small kitchen and checked any new messages on any social media website that would distract him.

This was a game changer. There had never been a romance involved before. It was pure and sweet and loving and everything he’d been trying for recently. He didn’t know how to get the image out of his head. Not when he knew they died eventually. Not when he knew how they died. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t just write the image away. There was no one to pair with anyone in his novel. How he normally coped wasn’t an option. Unless…

He disregarded the cereal he’d made numbly and went back to his computer and began to write frantically without cease. The sun was starting to come up when his phone dinged with a message and finally broke him of  his reverie.

So…I was thinking lunch today? –E.

Grantaire grinned and shut his laptop down. Today wouldn’t be so bad. He’d shower, put on clean clothes, and go have lunch with a beautiful man. Things would be okay.

That sounds great. Where and when? Wanna just meet up? –R

He slid back out of bed, in much better spirits now, and started to look for clothes while keeping an ear out for his phone dinging in again. He pulled out a white shirt he didn’t even remember buying and some dark jeans and his old combat boots.

Sure thing. Um…do you suggest anywhere? I’m not usually one for lunch. Typically just work through it. –E.

Grantaire didn’t even pretend to wait.

Hmm…tough decision. How about that little hot dog place a few blocks from the café we were all at last night? –R

He brought all of his things into the bathroom and started the shower so it’d be warm by the time he got his music playing and himself undressed.

That sounds great. I haven’t had a normal hotdog in ages! If you see me looking lost on the street, be merciful and help me. –E.

Grantaire felt like a teenager again and he quickly fired off a text back promising to be a decent person for all he could be.

**Geremi didn’t like the other angels. She liked Gideon but none of the others were like her angel. Gadreel came close but they made her read the Bible a lot and she had more interesting things to do. Raphael in the infirmary was nice enough but they were very serious and always very busy. They never had enough time to just play or listen. So, Geremi stayed with Gideon when she could. Only…Gideon was really busy too and sometimes Geremi couldn’t go where Gideon went, so she was left on her own.**

**Like today. Today she was wandering around the tunnels, looking at everything, and trying to find where the other humans were because there had to be some. She’d heard the scary angels talking about other humans. Humans Raphael was trying to save or that Michael had found in battle. The angels were always trying to save people. They had to bring them somewhere and that somewhere must be here. She didn’t have to look very long. After a red herring of a rat, a few dead ends, and one meeting between Michael and another angel she’d never seen before, Geremi found a small camp of humans.**

**Well, actually, she found two teenagers kissing each other really hard and really close against a wall. After she snuck by them, she found the others.**

**Most of them looked haggard and sick. They were dirty and their clothes seemed dulled and washed out. There  were a lot of older people, grownups. And a little boy with bright blond hair and dark brown eyes, who immediately came running up to Geremi with the widest grin. Geremi noticed he was missing his two front teeth. She imagined that must be awful.**

**“Finally!” he exclaimed. “Another kid. It’s no fun bein’ around people who don’t have fun the same way you do,” he explained. A woman shushed him and cradled a baby to her chest. Geremi looked back to the boy.**

**“Who are you?” she asked. “My name’s Geremi. I’m here with one of the people in charge so I imagine that puts me in charge of you.” She grinned at him and the idea.**

**“My name’s Daniel. I s’pose you’re right,” he agreed after a few seconds thought. “I came here in a crowd so I guess I’m just another person they helped. Do you help get people off the street?”**

**“I did once. I got in trouble ‘cause I got seen by the people in charge of the streets,” she said with a shrug. They were shushed again, this time by a much older man. Daniel jutted out his jaw in a way Geremi had seen Gideon do before he grabbed her and left the room. “Do you wanna go back to my room? I’ve got some books and things to do,” she offered. Plus, they could talk as loud as they wanted in her room.**

**Daniel nodded excitedly and started down the hallway before he realized he didn’t know where he was going. He waited bashfully and followed the young girl back to her room. “Who’d’ya share with?” he asked, sitting down on Gideon’s bed and bouncing slightly. It was softer than anything he’d touched in a long time.**

**“An angel,” Geremi answered simply. “That’s their bed but they don’t sleep so they don’t really need it. They use it to spread things out on when they’re thinking. They do that a lot. I’ve never met anyone who thinks as much as they do.”**

**Daniel nodded and sighed. “What’d you do before you came here?” he asked.**

**“I don’t know. I was with my family and then we were running away and these big people came and grabbed my dad and my mom shoved me into an alley and said we were playing tag and I had to run as fast as possible so she wouldn’t catch me because she was it. So I did and she never caught me. Gideon did, but that’s okay because they weren’t it.”**

**Daniel pursed his lips and nodded. “You were never in the schools?”**

**Geremi looked at him curiously. “’Course I was! I went to school,” she huffed indignantly.**

**“No, the schools they set up just now. For all the kids who were on the streets. They’d just scoop ‘em up and stick ‘em in a school,” Daniel explained. “Train us for things. Like how to hold a gun and fire and aim it.”**

**“Shouldn’t you aim before you fire?” Geremi asked with a grin.**

**Daniel threw a pillow at her.“Yeah, I was just talkin’ too fast.” He sighed and lay back on the bed. He didn’t speak for a long time and when Geremi went over to him, he’d fallen asleep.**

Grantaire was on time for his date. He’d waited in the small shop for a while before stepping back into the street and looking around. He found Enjolras by the light, looking distressed and still god like. Grantaire sighed and crossed to him, tapping him shoulder lightly.

“Oh, thank God,” Enjolras sighed. “I thought I was going to have to call you like some loser or something.”

“Asking for help makes you a loser?” Grantaire laughed. He knit his eyebrows and thought about it for a second. “Good thing I’m too thick skulled to ask for help anyway.”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that,” Enjolras defended quickly before blushing scarlet. “Which is something Schrodinger’s douchebag would say, isn’t it?”

“Little bit,” Grantaire agreed. He smiled and shook his head. “You’re fine. I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. “You’re very aware of being rude to people and groups not present,” he offered as he lead Enjolras back across the street.

“Well, I try to be. I’m a human rights lawyer. It’s my passion. I try to be as inoffensive as I can be out of pure respect and habit.”

“It’s a habit everyone should get in,” Grantaire agreed. He glanced up at Enjolras and internally sighed and just how gorgeous he was. It really wasn’t fair. “Combeferre was joking that you love suits. I see he wasn’t wrong.”

Enjolras glanced down at himself and nodded. “Yeah, I feel powerful in them. I ended up fighting my high school Debate team because they always wanted girls in a skirt and I figured that probably wasn’t fair.”

“How’d you win?” Grantaire asked, opening the door.

“Well, they didn’t listen when I said it was completely sexist so Courfeyrac and Combeferre and I all wore skirts to a few tournaments. It was detrimental to our seriousness for a few weeks until the rest of the circuit figured out what we were doing. But it was enough that the girls didn’t have to wear a skirt anymore if they didn’t want to.”

“Oh, wow, I bet that was a sight,” Grantaire laughed as he wound his way back to his favorite table in the whole place. That it was near the closest wifi spot was a complete coincidence.

“Oh, it was. Combeferre was very proper and had his panty hose and his skirt went to his knees and matched his blazer. It was very sharp. Courfeyrac, however, had a bright blue skirt to go with a khaki jacket. It was about mid-thigh. His reasoning was, ‘I didn’t shave for this to be hidden’.” Enjolras laughed and shook him head. “It was pretty funny. It got Combeferre discredited in his debate rounds and those were the only tournaments he didn’t win, but Courfeyrac actually held his own in his interp rounds. Because interp always got the liberal judges and debate always got conservative judges. It was never fair.”

Grantaire smiled and nodded. “Sounds fun,” he said. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m glad you’re happy?”

Enjolras laughed and Grantaire kind of forgot about what they were talking about. Talk about unfair. “I’m sorry. I completely went off on a tangent. What did you do in school?”

“High school or college?” Grantaire asked.

“High school, I guess,” Enjolras answered, settling down in his seat.

“Survived,” Grantaire responded without missing a beat.

Enjolras smiled and shook his head. He was cut off from replying when a waiter came up and took their order before disappearing again.

“Okay, what about college then?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire tucked his legs under himself to sit criss-cross and mulled over his answer. “I guess I just did what I wanted. I didn’t get involved with a lot of groups or anything. Our English department would put out an anthology so I was involved in that. And I was part of our LGBT group. I took a lot of courses that didn’t mean anything but I wanted to just learn about. Lots of classic studies.”

Enjolras smiled and was about to answer when their food came. They each grabbed their plates and drinks before turning their attention back to each other. “So, you like classics? What’s your favorite?”

“I think I’d rather choose my favorite way to die than a favorite story,” Grantaire laughed. He bit his lip and thought for a few moments. “I love the Greek myths but I think my all-time favorite is _Carmilla_ by Le Fanu, to be honest. Lesbian vampires? All I need in life.”

Enjolras laughed and nodded. “So, is that what you identify as? Gay?” he asked quietly.

Grantaire shook his head. “No. Like, I’m completely indifferent to men and women. I’m a true neutral bisexual. What about you?”

“Yeah, I’m just gay,” Enjolras answered with a shrug. “I’ve known since I was thirteen. Everyone else was getting girlfriends and talking about it and I was looking at boys instead.”

“What are Courfeyrac and Combeferre, if you don’t mind me asking?” Grantaire asked.

“Um, Courfeyrac’s gay, like he said.  Combeferre’s a different story. He’s…asexual but panromantic?” he ventured. “I think that’s what he last settled on.

“All and nothing. I like it.” Grantaire took a bite of his hotdog while he thought and worked up the courage to ask, “Are they together?”

Enjolras almost spit out his drink laughing. “I know right? People have been asking me that since we were kids. No, they aren’t. But they should be, shouldn’t they? They’re the kind of people who find each other life time after life time.” He shook his head and mimicked a bite from his food. “Oh my gosh, this is so good. How did you even find this place?” he asked in a put on moan.

Grantaire shrugged. “I don’t know. I grew up around there so I explored a lot. I think someone I played softball with brought me when we were little?”

“You grew up around there?” Enjolras asked.

“Yeah, a few miles out. Like, I didn’t grow up in the city. My first address wasn’t there, but this was the closest ‘big city’ to do things in. There’s a college on the other side of town, which is where I went, and then I just never left. I love the city.”

“How’d you find Bahorel and them?” Enjolras asked.

“We all met at college. Bahorel was always in the gym when I was. At around two in the morning.” Grantaire grinned. “I didn’t want to see people while I was running and he had just never left. And I think he had this illegal job working a bar underage and worked weird hours? Anyway, one morning he dropped weights on his chest and I was the only one to help him. After that he made me spot him. Then he didn’t go away. Joly and Bossuet are, like, some of my best friends. I met Joly in my first English class freshmen year and Bossuet came with him. They were always together.”

“Are they really together?” Enjolras asked with a grin.

“Y’know, we can’t really tell. They’re such shits about it. They’ve lived together as long as I’ve known them but I’ve never seen them kiss or anything. It’s infuriating. Joly’s talking to a girl, but with him, that doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Do you hang out with anyone else regularly?” Enjolras asked.

“Yeah, there’s this kid, Jehan. They’re, like, nineteen, max. They publish their poetry out of the same house I publish my novels,” Grantaire explained. “And Bahorel’s on again, off again boyfriend.”

“Wow, your social circle far expands mine,” Enjolras laughed. “There’s not really anyone I hang out with other than Combeferre and Courfeyrac.”

“How do you not get tired of them?” Grantaire asked incredulously. “Like, I have to go at least three days before hanging out with someone again.”

“You seem to think that I have a lot of free time to hang out,” Enjolras said.

“You’ve got enough to come have lunch with me,” Grantaire pointed out. He raised him eyebrow conspiratorially.

Enjolras laughed. “Okay, I’ve got a lunch break most days.”

“Most days.”

“Sometimes I work through it but that’s not really anyone else’s fault,” Enjolras explained. “Besides, you’re a little more important than running off to watch the migratory patterns of moths with Combeferre or go shopping for theater things with Courfeyrac.”

Grantaire blushed and grinned, keeping  his eyes on  his hot dog. A good day indeed.

**“Michael can’t save the world on their own,” Gideon grunted, hitting a punching bag over and over while Gadreel held onto the other side. He let out his own sounds of pain every time the bag was hit.**

**“They’re trying,” the other angel pointed out as they tried to shift the bag away from their stomach. “I do agree that help is needed, though. It’s a completely ridiculous task to undertake on one’s own.” A burst of air escaped as the bag was suddenly shoved into their chest. This is why they never came into the training room.**

**“And Gabriel thinks they’re in charge now because they run the army. An army, Gadreel. An army of angels. How insane is that?” Gideon hit the bag again in a fit of anger and Gadreel wondered how the angel hadn’t broken their bones yet.**

**“Gabriel has always praised themselves. They were just waiting for an opportunity to claim a title they only think they earned,” Gadreel agreed.**

**“The world is going to burn because Gabriel can’t get over their own ego,” Gideon growled out, hitting the bag hard. Gadreel let go and shook their arms out as they tried not to let out the distressed sound of pain that desperately wanted to escape.**

**“The world is already burning. All we can do at this point is pray that God gives us the strength to save as many people as possible,” Gadreel said.**

**“That’s not good enough! God did not set the world on fire. It was the free choice that led to this. This is not the destiny of this Earth!” Gideon punctuated their words with shots to the punching bag, leaving it swinging in a wide arch.**

**Gadreel watched it for a few seconds before turning their gaze towards the other angel. “God would want us to save people. That has been our mission since our creation. Regardless of what is happening to the Earth, our mission doesn’t change.”**

**“You loved humans. You always loved humans. You are the epitome of going against our mission.”**

**“And look at what happened to me! Do not use me as an example, Gideon. I was punished until the evident end of the world. I was taken from our mission, I was kept from our very essence of being for what I did. Do you know what that does to a soul? My Grantaire is still incapable of producing my wings, my soul aches with all that I did not do. You do not want to see the end of the world, the end of the human race, and realize you did not save enough people.”**

**Gideon shoved the punching bag away and moved to a weapons arena. Gadreel groaned to themselves and followed. “You lecture me as if I’m a child,” the angel accused.**

**“You are a child!” Gadreel answered, scrubbing a hand through their hair. “You’ve hardly experienced anything. Compared to what others have gone through, you’re still an infant. You’re lost and confused right now because you’ve never had to deal with something like this. You think that watching wars from your safe perch is living it, but it’s not, Gideon! It just isn’t.”**

**“And I suppose the scars across your body, scars made by other angels who turned on you, makes you better than me somehow?” Gideon demanded.**

**“Of course not. They just mean that I’ve hurt more than you. That I’ve made more mistakes than you have. They say nothing else about my character.” Gadreel ran a hand down their face and swallowed hard. “We were created with the first monsters. Do you think that evil never sank into us?”**

**Gideon didn’t have a response. They settled for glaring at their friend.**

**“Our only similar family is the pure evil that infected Lucifer and the Earth. That’s the kind of thing that being old reminds you of.”**

**“If we’re so like the evil we’re trying to combat, why aren’t we seeing results from this ridiculous war?” Gideon demanded as he curled their fingers into a fist.**

**Gadreel sighed and shook their head. “You’re not getting it. That isn’t the point. The point is that  you have to be careful how  you react to things because you’ve never been bad. You’ve never been around evil. You have to be careful how you handle it. You’d never know if you were becoming evil. The anger you hold towards Gabriel is definitely evil in nature. It will possess you if you don’t control yourself,” they explained slowly.**

**Gideon clenched their jaw and looked away. “I’m not evil because I’m angry with the way Gabriel thinks they know everything,” he defended with a tight jaw.**

**“Of course not,” Gadreel sighed as they pinched their nose. “But if you continue to give into evil urges…”**

**“Wanting fairness when people are dying is not an evil urge!” Gideon shouted finally. “And if it is, then damn me to Hell right now. Smite me if you want.”**

**“I don’t want to smite you and I’m not going to. You’re being absurd. If you look for the answers in God, you will find the peace you are longing for,” Gabriel suggested.**

**Gideon shook their head and their lips curled up in disgust. “You just don’t get it. And you won’t because you’re not looking at everything. You’re looking at yourself.”**

**“No, Gideon, you’re looking at a little girl who doesn’t change anything,” Gadreel sighed.**

**“I thought all souls meant something.”**

**“Of course they do. Individually. But you need to see that there are millions…billions of people who need your care, compassion, and protection just as much as Geremi.”**

**“I’m not leaving her behind. Don’t you dare ask that of me.”**

**“I’m not asking you to do that. I’m asking you to do your job as an angel.”**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a beta! [This!](http://adidas-menzel.tumblr.com/) wonderful human being is the reason this chapter will be less awful. 
> 
> Wanna yell? Wanna talk? Wanna rec something? Talk to me [Here](http://abarbaricyalp.tumblr.com/ask)

_“Here’s one last drink for the revolution,” someone called out with an equal amount of laughter and sadness in their voice. A wine bottle was held in the air. Slowly the rest joined._

_“To the pretty girls who went to our heads.”_

_“And the witty ones who went to our beds.”_

_“To friendship.”_

_“To laughter.”_

_“To freedom.”_

_“And all of those who never got to see it.”_

_You shake your head and keep your alcohol obstinately close. You don’t want to toast your friends’ imminent death. You leader’s face shows his disapproval quite clearly. You don’t care. You swallow several more gulps of liquid relief._

_“Let’s drink to being so drunk you don’t realize how pointless this all is and how no one will ever remember you.”_

_“That’s enough,” your Apollo snaps. His fingers are curled in your vest and for a moment your heart is beating fast and passionately. He shoves you back on the barrels of gun powder you had been resting on and leaves you there, tending to the other revolutionaries._

_They continue to talk even after you’ve fallen asleep on your arm. You  try to stay awake and take in all of their voices for as long as you can. You never know when someone’s life will be taken from you. But you’re emotionally exhausted and you just can’t._

_You’re woken by a rough hand shaking you. You’re one of the few left. When the one who woke you up leaves, you’re alone with the leader. You wipe the back of your mouth and stumble for a few steps as you try to find the door in the spinning room. “How dare you do that?” breaks the silence. You look over to your leader and blink slowly._

_“Do what? Call you out on what a ridiculous cause and death you’ve arranged for yourself?” you asked as you staggeringly bring the bottle back up to your lips._

_“You terrified them. You don’t think we’re scared of dying too? We have little kids in here. Boys who’ve barely finished secondary school. Boys who aren’t through with their voice changes. Boys who’ve never been with a woman.”_

_“Or man,” you interject. “You’ve never been with a woman.”_

_“And the man I chose to be with is proving to be a complete disappointment,” he shoots back instantly._

_“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demand._

_“It means that I thought I had chosen someone as passionate as me, someone who cared for me the way I cared for them.”_

_“You never cared for me. You cared for your country and your revolution. Don’t you dare act like this has any sway on your feelings for me. This isn’t about me. It never was.”_

_“I have always cared about you. Don’t you undermine my emotions because you’re self-conscious and build me higher than I was ever meant to be, than any man was ever meant to be.”_

_“You build yourself high enough. You never needed me to stroke your ego,” you scoff, rolling your eyes._

_“And you never needed me to stroke anything on you but here we are. It appears we both did what wasn’t needed.” His jaw is tight and his eyes are bight and hard. You don’t know what to say._

_“Your revolution isn’t needed.” It’s weak. It’ll be attacked. You know it will be._

_“People are dying in the streets! The rich are passing over the bodies of the poor as if they’re nothing more than a hole in the walkway. People are being gunned down for speaking too loudly or being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”_

_“So what do you want to do? Plant yourself and the selves of all your friends right at the wrong place at the wrong time so you can be sitting ducks when you get shot.”_

_“We’d be martyrs. The people of Paris would rise for us!”_

_“You’d be dead! The people of Paris would walk over your corpses and turn up their noses at the stench of your decaying bodies.”_

_You don’t even see him raise his hand and, for a moment, you’re not sure what happened until your entire face prickles and burns where he’s backhanded you. Shame, anger, and betrayal bloom against your chest and stomach. You want to attack him but know you won’t. You never would. Instead, you realize this must be how he feels. Attacked by one he trusted._

_You take a deep breath and try not to let the tears of pain escape your eyes. His eyes are red too. Like they were when he heard his ‘people’s man’ had died or when the old woman was shot in the streets. You must be dead to him, you think. For him to be crying over you. That seems to be the only times he does cry._

_You think of making amends, of apologizing and forgiving him. Life is short, yours and his particularly. Instead, you walk away with as tall a back as you can manage._

“Grantaire! Grantaire, wake up, you lazy no-good.”

Grantaire jerked awake, looking around frantically, though without energy as he tried to figure out where he was. Oh. Right. Shopping. With Courfeyrac. How had that happened?

“Okay, so, now that I have your attention, I need you to tell me which looks tackier,” he said as he held two shirts over his chest.

“Everything looks tacky on you,” Grantaire yawned, shifting in the chair that was probably conveniently located for this exact thing.

“That is the rudest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life and I want you to apologize right now,” he pouted.

“The fact that you’re wearing a ‘Suns out, Guns out’ shirt when you weigh, like, 130 pounds soaking wet is batting for me right now,” Grantaire pointed out.

“It’s ironic and I bought it for Combeferre but he won’t wear it so I do because I didn’t spend money on something that would end up locked away in a drawer.”

“Not even an engagement ring for the same man that you’re too chicken to give him?” Grantaire teased as he closed his eyes again.

“Har har,” Courfeyrac pretended. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his own reflection. “Combeferre and I are taking it slowly. We’re friends and we don’t want to ruin that. Besides, it would be so awkward with Enjolras around.”

“Why? He’s not interested. He doesn’t care about either of you that way.”

“Yeah, but that still leaves him third wheeling. Like, Combeferre isn’t exaggerating when he blatantly walks up to strangers to demand they text Enjolras back. Enj needs a bigger social circle,” Courfeyrac sighed.

“I’m adopting his evidently. He can adopt mine,” Grantaire offered.

“Sorry, I don’t see Enjolras hanging out with Bahorel without killing him. And Joly works as much as Enjolras does so that’s out. We don’t even know about this mysterious Feuilly and Bossuet…what does Bossuet do?”

“Gets into trouble,” Grantaire offered with a grin. “He works at an animal rescue place. Great guy. All around good man. Spends a lot of time in the hospital because he’s always hurting himself.”

“That doesn’t pay very well does it?” Courfeyrac asked with actual concern, because he was truly an angel in a frat boy’s clothes.

“Yeah, but it’s what he loves and it’s got a good insurance plan ‘cause of the animals and shit,” Grantaire explained. “He was in school to go into…something. I don’t remember what. He kept switching his classes though, or they’d get full because he has zero luck, and he never finished his degree plan.”

“All of that money wasted,” Courfeyrac sighed. He was still flipping the same two shirts around.

“Nah, he’s doing online courses now. Something with computers, ironically.”

“How come you can say that’s ironic and not my shirt?!” Courfeyrac whined, fully turning to  him and throwing his arms by his sides dramatically.

Grantaire rolled his eyes and stood up. “Why do you need a tacky shirt?” he asked. He stood behind him in the mirror and held each shirt in front of him.

“Because Combeferre loves them and when he sees them he gets this stupid big smile across his face and it’s just, like, the greatest thing ever.” He paused and met Grantaire’s eyes in the mirror before he took on a horrified expression. “Oh, God, am I in love with my best friend?!”

Grantaire laughed and nodded. “It would appear so. Completely and totally and very clearly.”

Now Courfeyrac threw himself over the chair, the shirts discarded on the floor. “Oh, woe is me. I was never supposed to realize it. This always happens. I need it to stop,” he moaned and cried theatrically. Grantaire looked around to make sure no one was looking at them.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he said with a sigh. “It’s obvious he cares about you too. Just tell him.”

“No, you don’t understand. I can’t. History dictates I can’t. If I do bad things happen.”

“I’m sure whatever past relationships you’ve had that have ended because of the big L word won’t compare to anything with Combeferre,” Grantaire said softly, petting Courfeyrac’s curly hair. He didn’t notice him look very carefully at him and relax when he talked. “And even if you’ve told him before, I’m sure you’re being dramatic and you were, like, eight or something.”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just…” Courfeyrac ran his hands down his face and shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s something between the three of us.”

“What, like a pact or something? You swore off of each other?” Grantaire asked with a snort. He rolled his eyes and picked up the shirts before examining them.

“Kind of? I don’t know. I just know…Enjolras and Combeferre tried dating in high school. Enjolras felt pressured to fit in and Combeferre had always thought they’d get along and everything. It ended badly. Enjolras was ashamed of himself for whatever reason. Combeferre was withdrawn. He had anger issues back then and you really saw it after that. And I…felt betrayed. Like, here I was, by his side all this time, out all this time, and he chose Enj over me.”  Courfeyrac shrugged and played with a tear in his jeans. “It didn’t feel fair. We got really distant. We didn’t have real conversations for weeks. How we managed to make it through our classes together is beyond me, even to this day.”

Grantaire lowered the shirts away from himself and frowned. That was a lot more serious than he’d thought. “That was high school though. You’re all very comfortable in your sexualities now. You’re more mature. Hormones aren’t so high anymore. Like…try it again.”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “It’s not that easy. Nothing is ever easy with us.” He groaned and turned over to press his face into the arm of the chair. “It’s not fair. I like him so much.”

“Then tell him, Courfeyrac. Wear this obnoxious shirt and tell him you keep wasting your money on trash because it makes him smile!” Grantaire demanded, throwing a shirt at him. “Stop being afraid of your future and live through it because the time is going to pass no matter what and things are going to change no matter what. It’s time they changed in your favor,” he said.

Courfeyrac stared up at his and nodded mutely for a few moments. “Okay. Okay, yeah, I’ll do that,” he said. He took a breath and stood up. “Captain Irony here to seize the day. I can do it.” He nodded again and marched to the front of the store.

Grantaire rolled his eyes and grabbed his Starbucks before following. He’d gotten himself involved with a bunch of nerds and it was beginning to be a problem. They had more drama than his other friends combined, it seemed.

Courfeyrac paid for his shirt, took his drink back, and left for his car, trusting that Grantaire would follow. Obviously he wasn’t going to leave him, but still. And he did follow so that’s all that mattered.

He worried his lower lip as Grantaire slid into Courfeyrac’s open Jeep and propped his feet up on the dash. Typically, Courfeyrac would have yelled and pitched a fit but right now he was distracted.  Far too distracted to be put off by shoes on his car.

He’d had his sneaking suspicions that Grantaire might be like him and Combeferre and even Enjolras. He’d been the one to suggest following the young author when Feuilly had come to them saying that his boyfriend’s friend was having weird nightmares like they all had had at one point. Courfeyrac had lived through Enjolras’ and Combeferre’s both. Lived through his own. He remembered waking up and scratching at his chest to make sure the waxy birthmarks that covered it were still there instead of gaping bullet holes. He’d held Enjolras the first time it happened and soothed Combeferre through his. Then there was Grantaire. He knew as soon as he heard him call out a name. Apollo, he’d said with hurt and tears in his voice. He’d shook him awake then but he remembered the name. Remembered the fighting. Remembered how the artist had always left the scene early.

“Yo, let’s go. Drive,” Grantaire demanded and Courfeyrac shook his head to clear it. He pulled out of his parking spot and started back to the main road.

“You had a dream in the store, right?” he asked after a moment of silence.

Grantaire looked up at him and made a face before he nodded. “Yeah, I did. What about it?” he demanded. “I wasn’t talking out loud was I?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Courfeyrac lied. “You were just shifting and kind of making these weird noises. You sounded distressed.”

“Yeah. I was dreaming about this fight. Like, I always have these dreams about fucking Revolutionary France for whatever reason. Like, I don’t even like France. Pretty girls go missing in France and it smells.”

Courfeyrac looked personally offended and horrified. “France is delicious though? Bread? Cheese? Wine?”

“That’s some classy shit, friend, but save it for the country club,” Grantaire laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not into all of that. It doesn’t appeal to me. There’s too many people in France and they produce too much waste for one country to handle. Especially as poorly as it does.”

“You pain me,” Courfeyrac sighed. He tapped his fingers out on the steering wheel in an impatient fashion and finally swallowed hard. “Sure it’s the Revolution?” he asked.

“I don’t know, dude. I just know it’s France, people are dressed funny, and they’re all fighting and shit,” Grantaire sighed.

“Ever see people you know in them?”

“Yeah, sure. Joly’s in them. Someone who kinda looks like you. A white Combeferre recently. Or maybe I’m just distorting his image to fit my dream, but whatever. This girl I used to sell drugs with sometimes.”

Courfeyrac hit the  brakes and Grantaire quickly turned to make sure no one was coming. “What?” Courfeyrac practically screeched.

“What the hell are you doing?! Move the car! You’re going to get us killed!” Grantaire yelled back.

“What the hell do you mean you used to sell drugs? What is wrong with you? Do you know how dangerous that is?!” he demanded as he slowly started moving the car again.

“Do you know how dangerous stopping in the middle of the fucking road is?!” Grantaire adjusted the seatbelt across his chest and let out several long breaths as he tried to restore order to his hair and heart rate. “And I know it was dangerous and stupid but I had to put myself through college, okay? It was either that or starve. Or hit the pole. It’s not like people are tripping over themselves to hire someone like I was in college.”

“Who were you in college?” Courfeyrac asked. The car was moving at a much more acceptable speed.

“Quiet and shy. Depressed. Most days I didn’t want to get out of bed. I didn’t do well in my classes for the first few semesters. Wasn’t looking good.”

“What changed?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Well, I got a dog. Not that that’s a cure all, but it was a reason to get up and do something. Joly helped a lot. Met Bahorel. Started going to classes. Joly helped me find the right medications and I was looking much better within the semester. By the beginning of my junior year, I’d recovered my G.P.A. up to a 3.0.”

“Impressive,” Courfeyrac complimented with a smile. He was still hung up on his best friend, a best friend life after life, dating a drug dealer. Then again, remembering the 60s, Enjolras would be fine. He had to give Grantaire a chance. He’d turned everything around. Everything was fine now.

He had to tell Combeferre, though. Everything. The dreams, the realness. And he had to get a copy of Grantaire’s book to see if he was using as much from his nightmares as he said he was. This was going to be a long night.

**Gideon was exhausted. They couldn’t keep their wings bound anymore. As they walked into their room, wings dragging across the walls and floor behind them, they were shocked to see two little bodies on their bed rather than the customary one. They walked over slowly and saw Geremi, looking right as rain, and a little boy. He couldn’t be any older than her. A scrappy little thing with shaggy hair and dirty skin. A refugee then. The angel slowly took the boy’s wrist and turned it to see a barcode neatly tattooed against the fragile skin and bone there. A refugee from the schools, then. No family. No one else here. It seemed that Geremi and Gideon suffered from the same strain of compassion.**

**The angel slowly lowered the boy’s arm again and walked to the small bathroom that connected their room to the next. They tugged their shirt off and stared in the mirror at the glowing sigils etched into their skin. Waxy to the touch, each one meant something unique. Most angels had the same ones on their skin with one or two being their own or very rare.  Gideon hadn’t bothered checking. They shifted from side to side to see how brightly their sigils were glowing. The result was dismal. Their grace was sapped for now. If they didn’t rest soon, they’d be useless in a fight.**

**Glancing out the door once more to make sure the kids were still asleep, Gideon very gently closed the door and stripped completely to stare at all their sigils and start the shower. Cowering in the corner and trying not to sob wouldn’t help their ego any, but it would help their grace tremendously. Actually giving in to emotion would help more. They stepped into the scalding water and very quickly turned it down before just standing under it and staring at the opposite wall. Occasionally they’d turn to wet their face before continuing on. The area slowly got brighter as the water got colder and their grace grew stronger.**

**Gideon was just about to step out when they heard the door open. “Geremi, I’ll be out in a second. Just let me get dressed and then you can come in here,” they called. “And if you’re Geremi’s friend, the same goes for you. Just give me half a second more.”**

**Instead of a door shutting, the shower curtain was pulled back and Gideon quickly jumped back, trying to cover as much of themselves as possible, despite not having the reproductive organs of a human anyway.**

**“No need to hide away,” a pretty voice lilted. Gideon let out a breath and slowly stood up when they discovered simply another angel.**

**“Azazel,” they greeted, reaching for a towel and starting to wrap it around their waist. Instead, Azazel caught their wrist lightly and squeezed until Gideon’s fingers opened on their own accord and let the towel pile in the middle of the floor.**

**“What’s the rush, Gideon? Somewhere to be? Someone to piss off?” they sing-songed so close to Gideon’s shoulder the angel could feel the other’s breath.**

**“I have to get back to…”**

**“To the girl. Yes, we all know how you dote on her,” Azazel sighed. A cool hand pressed over Gideon’s smooth chest and the angel’s heart rate spiked. “Let me help you dote on yourself for a little while.”**

**“We’re angels, Azazel,” Gideon warned as they tried to back up or grab the towel. They prayed that neither child would come in now.**

**“You may be. I fell. I’m just here for the redemption arc,” Azazel laughed, shaking their head to get dark hair out of their eyes.**

**“This is not how you deal with a redemption arc,” Gideon said. They swallowed and looked to the door.**

**“Oh, please, they’re still asleep. Can’t you hear their life forces? Have you grown weak in that area already? Spending so much time with humans?” Azazel pouted out their lower lip. “I’ve not seen sigils in such a bad shape since Raphael went a week straight without rest.” A pale finger traced over Gideon’s sigils slowly and methodically. Gideon just wanted to get out.**

**“Azazel, I’d really like to get back to what I was doing,” they tried with as much patience as they could master.**

**“Come on. All the angels work better after I show them what they’ve kept from themselves for so long,” Azazel tempted in an airy breath as they  dragged a finger down the middle of Gideon’s chest.**

**“I’m an angel. I don’t want for myself. My mission is to the people of the Earth and to serve God as well as I can.”**

**Azazel rolled their eyes. “Spare me. I’ve heard this enough since this planet went to Hell in a handbasket. Just let me help you to help them.” They leaned forward and sucked at Gideon’s collarbone, both hands pressed against Gideon’s chest. Finally, the angel was able to grab their towel and stumble away.**

**“Stay away from me and stay away from Geremi. Don’t you dare touch me again,” they demanded as they tried to wrap the towel around their waist and open the door at the same time.**

**Azazel only smirked as their eyes glowed with a bright yellow. “We’ll see how you feel in a week, Gideon, dear,” they purred.**

**Gideon fell through his door and slammed it shut.**

 

 


End file.
